Can't hold their liquor
by HSGisME123
Summary: Mycroft invites Lestrade to his estate for a night of playing games. Unfortunately for the inspector, Mycroft started his games a little earlier.


Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade didn't know why Mycroft Holmes called him to his house. Quite frankly, he didn't care. All he knew was that if the scotch in his hand didn't start kicking in soon, he would likely punch Mycroft in the face if it didn't mean certain incarceration, and possibly accusations of treason.

"I'm not nearly drunk enough for this, Mycroft," Lestrade told the hidden face of the British government. "Pour me another one."

Mycroft looked up from his hand which held a half-emptied glass of wine, which paled in comparison to the dozens of empty shot glasses, scotch glasses, and the occasional mug, which currently surrounded him. Thankfully for the Detective Inspector, Mycroft was still vaguely aware that clothing is appreciated even in casual situations. He'd forgotten that a bath robe is not the most concealing of clothing, but it was still clothing.

"But Greg, you haven't even finished your first scotch yet!" Mycroft so helpfully pointed out. "Is something troubling you? I can see it on your face, even if it is blurry and keeps moving from side to side."

"I'm standing perfectly still, Mycroft," Lestrade said, putting his glass down and helping to level Mycroft's teetering head. He wasn't even buzzed yet, and his host was already falling all over himself. That's what he got for trying to savour the taste.

Mycroft looked up at Lestrade, and started laughing. "So you are, Greg," he said in between fits of laughter. "So you are."

Mycroft stood up, and stumbled his way to his bathroom. Lestrade couldn't tell if it was his bladder or his stomach that started to talk to him, but the sound of trickling water clued him in on which. It was at that point he noticed the bathroom door was wide open.

"For God sakes, man!" Lestrade said as he went to shut the door for him. "At least show some respect for yourself!"

"It's my house, dammit!" Mycroft shouted through the now shut door. "Besides, it's just you and me in here, and we both have the same parts!" After a moment, Mycroft decided to try out his sense of humour again. "At least, I hope we have the same bits!"

After a minute, and Lestrade reminding Mycroft to wash his hands, he exited the bathroom, for some reason, deciding to leave his bath robe behind, leaving him with nothing more to wear than his boxer shorts and a white vest (or tank-top for the Americans reading this).

"Okay, Mycroft," Lestrade sighed in frustration. "I swear you're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Mycroft said as he used Lestrade to help him stand up straight. "I invite you over to my house out of the goodness of my heart, and you're accusing me of ulterior motives!"

"Most people in your situation couldn't even pronounce 'ulterior motives'," Lestrade pointed out.

People say that drunk actions are sober thoughts. This phrase surprised Lestrade, because it was unusually accurate. But for some reason, Mycroft was still his usual self, just a bit more forgetful and with less control over his bodily functions. Yes, he was still the same old nearly-insufferable smart-arse that Lestrade knew him to be.

While Mycroft was still dangling on Lestrade for support, his body decided that he'd had enough to drink, and refused to let him drink any more. It showed this with evidence of Mycroft snoring louder than a chainsaw. It both amazed and baffled the Detective Inspector at how well and how poorly he handled his alcohol.

He picked up the drunken man, and bridle carried him to the couch, not wanting to wander throughout the house with a passed out government official in his arms trying to locate the bedroom. Not seeing a blanket, he covered him with the lovely cloth item that was decorating the sofa. He did this with very little care for much more than Mycroft's balance.

Then, to seem like a good house guest, Lestrade took the various glasses that were strewn about, and placed them in the kitchen sink, carefully so the clanking wouldn't wake Mycroft. He ran some water over the glasses to get the smell off of them, and grabbed his coat as he left the building.

"That is the last time I go to your house under the guise of 'playing scrabble'."


End file.
